


The Wanting Comes In Waves

by vlka_fenryka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Frustrated gay french noises, Masturbation, Widowmaker can't focus and it's all Tracer's fault, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlka_fenryka/pseuds/vlka_fenryka
Summary: Following their encounter in London, Widowmaker returns to Talon with the intent of wiping all thoughts of Tracer from her mind and discovers that her cheerful enemy isn't quite so easy to erase...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, so here we are with the epilogue/sequel to Cage Me Like An Animal. I've been meaning to post this up for awhile now but I had to rework the ending a bit and then life showed up like "hey...that's a nice schedule you've got laid out there..be a shame if something were to..take a baseball bat to it" (*cough casual TWD reference cough*) 
> 
> This one is entirely from Widowmaker's perspective, which is always a fun challenge, and it picks up right where Cage Me Like An Animal left off, so I hope you enjoy it!

Widowmaker could recall very few details of her life outside of her time with Talon. Logic dictated that she must have had one, and there were rare moments that occurred during a mission where a stray sound or an inexplicably familiar scent would break through her focus and she would catch a glimpse of another time and place, but rarely did those moments last for more than a second or two.

Whenever she found her mental conditioning compromised during a mission, even if it was only for a moment, the assassin would report immediately upon her mission debriefing to Talon medical staff for reconditioning. It was barely even a conscious decision at this point, more akin to a reflex following an “If p, then q” logic formula.

As one of Talon’s top ranking operatives, Widowmaker’s adherence to her mission protocols was absolute. Had she been ordered to take her own life during a mission, she would have cracked the cyanide capsule in her back molar without a moment’s hesitation, as she had been trained to do over and over and over again.

Any life that she had had before was of no consequence and she would not allow those flashes of memory to jeopardize Talon’s mission…so why then was she here in one of Talon’s firing ranges practicing her already perfect marksmanship when she should be strapped to a table up in the medical ward having her mental conditioning adjusted? She had told herself that she needed to make up for the evening of training lost while she was in London, but as she reloaded another magazine into Widow’s Kiss a nagging part of her mind knew that to be a lie.

Widowmaker didn’t “get rusty” when almost every moment of her down time in between missions was spent running through the sniper courses that Talon’s facilities had to offer, and the few hours she had spent off base wouldn’t have had an effect on that in the slightest. But if she allowed herself to accept that as truth, then she no longer had any excuses for her diversion from her standard protocols, and that was a failure that could not be tolerated.

As she inhaled, Widowmaker lined up her next shot, the familiar clicks and beeps of her helmet’s scoping technology calculating the distance between her and the target hanging from the ceiling at the other end of the range. She traced the trigger of Widow’s Kiss with her index finger as she exhaled slowly, pushing all thoughts from her mind until the only thing that remained was a calm, familiar void.

As her finger curled tighter around the cool metallic surface and she began to apply pressure, the sniper flashed back to a few hours prior, as her fingers had curled against the soft, warm tissue of Tracer’s inner walls, causing the young pilot to cry out in ecstasy and bliss. Widowmaker’s sudden hiss of breath was lost in the thunder of her rifle as she pulled the trigger, growling at her loss of concentration and almost frantically zooming in with her visor to see where she had hit the target.

She felt every one of her muscles freeze in place as her heart rate sped up only slightly…she had _missed_. For the second time in twenty four hours, Widowmaker found herself unable to move, unable to react in the face of something she had never experienced before. The sniper’s gaze remained rooted on the unmarred white center of the target, she didn’t even bother to look and see how far off the mark her shot had gone…she had actually _missed_.

“I don’t miss…” she whispered in the silence, as the moments before she took the shot played over in her mind. Memories of Tracer’s breath on her skin, of the girl’s arousal dripping onto her palm as she plunged her fingers into the pilot’s heated core over and over again…Widowmaker suddenly found the pressure in her chest to be overwhelming and she deactivated her visor with a quick movement of her wrist to the side of the helmet. The fluorescent lighting overhead…the sound of Widow’s Kiss firing within her mind…it was all too much.

As the world began to spin, Widowmaker closed her eyes and grasped the cool metal of the barricade in front of her. She gritted her teeth and shook her head, fighting to dispel the echoes of sensation spreading through her body, but in the back of her mind the sniper knew it was a losing battle as, for the second time in her living memory, she felt a telltale series of tremors shooting down her spine to settle in her core. Widowmaker exhaled with a shaky breath, counting down from ten in a voice that was barely above a whisper as her conditioning made one last push to reassert itself.

_“_ Dix” _… the familiar weight of Widow’s Kiss strapped to her back as she moved into position on the battlefield …“_

Neuf” _… smooth, warm lips parting beneath her own…“_

Huit” _… the resistance of the grappling hook letting her know she had successfully anchored to her next vantage point…“_

Sept” _… the cool London breeze inching across the skin of her right hand as her glove is slowly peeled away by eager teeth…_

_“_ Six” _… the click of her helmet as the visor slides into place over her eyes, lighting up her target with a shining red aura…_

_“_ Cinq” _… thumbs tracing circles over the skin of her forearms and a young woman’s soothing voice, begging for her trust…“_

Quatre” _…the coiling of muscles in her arms as she braces herself for the rifle’s recoil…“_

Trois” _… heated flesh beneath her palms, feeling the girl’s arousal reaching a fever pitch as a soft nipple pebbles beneath the ministrations of her tongue…_

_“_ Deux” _…the first inhalation after her target falls, coming alive under the stars as another life fades…_

_“_ Un” _…the flash of white before her eyes as the diligent motions of Tracer’s tongue against her clit send her plummeting over the edge into oblivion…_

 

Had it been a later hour in the day, the force with which the 8 foot tall metal door slammed into an adjacent wall would have undoubtedly turned a few heads. As it stood, the Talon base was occupied only by a skeleton crew of medical staff, security personnel, and engineers for the purpose of keeping the facility operational. Prior to the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, all crucial Talon resources had been relocated from the base outside of Cardiff, in anticipation of heightened security around the UK.

 Widowmaker had been grateful for the solitude in truth, no matter which base she happened to be stationed at there was always the inevitable group of green horn recruits looking to see if the rumors surrounding the cold, emotionless assassin were really true. As it turns out, it doesn’t take any herculean application of pressure to break a human clavicle, and with Talon’s medical resources the recruit’s career could even be salvaged…provided their comrades moved quickly enough.

As the rapid click of her heels echoed down the empty corridor leading from the training facility, Widowmaker couldn’t help but feel that same sense of gratitude…the last thing she needed was for someone to witness her in such an agitated state.

“ _Damn her…”_ the sniper growled mentally as the digits of her right hand curled into a fist. Her painted nails bit into the skin of her palm as she approached the junction in the hallway that would lead back towards the senior operatives’ temporary living quarters. The assassin moved like a woman possessed, her gaze remaining focused on her path even as her conscious mind found itself once more on a rooftop in London, burning from the touch of a young woman whose infuriating smile and cheerful brown eyes had seared themselves into Widowmaker’s psyche.

Her movements slowed as she approached the door leading to her quarters. Talon’s Cardiff base had modest rooms provisioned for any higher ranking operatives who would be stationed at the base for a period spanning longer than three days, with each room thoroughly locked down behind bulletproof metal doors equipped with state of the art anti-intrusion mechanisms.

Widowmaker punched a unique key code into the panel next to the large metal door and reached up with her right hand to press her palm onto the biometric scanner that had appeared from a compartment beneath the panel. With a sharp intake of breath, Widowmaker’s golden eyes narrowed as she stared intently at the arm extended in front of her

“Merde…”

Her breathe escaped as a whisper, while her thoughts clashed violently within. She should feel nothing but revulsion for this obvious sign of weakness…her body was meant to be no more than a tool, an extension of Talon’s goals…but the primal intensity of her desire had caused Widowmaker’s body to react in ways that she could never have anticipated.

The assassin gritted her teeth and tensed the muscles of her arm, willing the offending limb to steady its quivering motions. Waiting only a moment for the tremors to subside, Widowmaker slammed her palm down onto the scanner, barely hearing the *beep* of the panel as her DNA signature was recognized and the large door swung inward. She stepped quickly inside and whirled around, slamming the door shut with both hands planted firmly against the cool metal.

_“Why is this happening...why can’t I focus..?”_

Widowmaker’s breath was coming in harsh pants as she closed her eyes, recalling the way she had pushed Tracer’s body up against the brick wall of the rooftop stairwell. The younger woman had arched her back, presenting her soft, warm breasts up towards the assassin, eager for _her_ touch. The sniper shivered and leaned her body weight forward, hands still pressed against the door as if its solid presence was the only thing keeping her standing.

“I…I can’t…” she groaned, her whole body trembling now as Widowmaker could _feel_ her arousal beginning to drip down her thigh.

This _could not_ be happening. The sniper fought back against her base instincts with every mental resource she had. She repeated every mantra ever drilled into her head by Talon, listed off every one of her marks, counted down all of the ways to kill a man in unarmed combat…but every attempt was shattered by memories of heated skin, desperate moans and an insatiable tongue.

Slowly, and seemingly of its own accord, Widowmaker’s right arm pulled away from the door. The limb hovered hesitantly for a moment in midair, and then began a steady descent as the assassin bit her lower lip to prevent an undignified whimper from escaping. She closed her eyes and exhaled a sigh as her fingers delicately traced over her breast through the material of her suit.

The thin, flexible material ensured that each motion of her fingertips was felt, yet dulled just enough of the sensation to be deliciously teasing. In her mind, Widowmaker saw slender, pale digits moving against her. She imagined one of the pilot’s captivating hazel eyes winking playfully as she finally brought her fingers to play over the sniper’s nipple, and Widowmaker felt a sudden rush of embarrassment that her body was so effectively betraying the extent of her need.

“ _Cherie…_ ” she whispered in the silence of her quarters, hips beginning to rock slowly as Widowmaker’s fingers against her breast began to pick up speed. Her left hand, still braced against the door, clenched into a fist as the sniper gasped in pleasure, and Widowmaker abandoned her now torturous ministrations to grasp the hidden zipper at the front of her suit.

As the material parted, the assassin pictured Tracer on her knees in front of her, grasping the small metal zipper with her teeth as she pulled. In that moment, even as a tiny logical voice in the back of her mind registered it as convection from the base’s internal heating systems, Widowmaker could have sworn that she could still feel the ghost of the younger woman’s heated breath against her cool skin.

All other thoughts had fled from the sniper’s mind, the frustration and confusion that had threatened to overwhelm her only a short span of time ago had been lost in the haze of lust that now gripped every fiber of her being.

It reminded her of the calm before a kill, that utter void in which she always found herself as she lined up her target in her scope. But where those moments were defined by an utter lack of sensation, the situation that Widowmaker currently found herself in was the polar opposite. It was as if her desire had scorched away all intruding thoughts, leaving her ablaze from the inside out. Yet still, Widowmaker’s fingers faltered for just a moment, hesitating in midair directly above her core, as if Talon’s conditioning had been extended to every muscle of her body.

The spell was broken, however, as the sniper felt her inner muscles clench in anticipation, aching with a need so primal in its intensity that Widowmaker could not have stopped her fingers’ descent even if she wanted to. As the tips of her cool digits made contact with her arousal, she marveled at the warmth of her normally chilled skin, the heat exploding into a small inferno as her index finger began to trace a path up through the dripping wetness to graze the small bundle of nerves nestled above.

Widowmaker gasped as her mind was assaulted by a cacophony of sensation. She hissed at the stimulation, a small part of her wanting to shy away from it even as she let her finger descend once more through her folds to tease at her entrance.

Gathering her wetness on her fingers, the sniper threw her head back with a barely restrained groan as she eased one finger inside of herself. Her muscles clenched around the digit, and Widowmaker slowly retracted the finger before plunging back in, the nails of her left hand digging into her palms and adding an intoxicating flash of pain along with her pleasure.

In her mind’s eye, it was Tracer’s finger exploring her depths, bending to massage against the skin of her front wall as Widowmaker urged her onwards.

_“Oui, more cherie…give me more”_

The assassin’s hips jerked forwards as she added a second finger, curling the two digits for a brief moment and dropping her thumb to rest gently just above her clit. Widowmaker applied pressure over the sensitive nub through the skin of the hood, providing a teasing level of sensation that bordered on pure decadence.

The pad of her thumb now soaking from her own wetness, the sniper angled her touch lower so that she was grazing her clit directly, and she cried out as a lightning bolt of sensation coursed through her veins and her hips jerked up into the touch.

She began to trace circles around the bundle of nerves, cresting over the top each time her fingers curled to find the one spot within her core that threatened to leave her completely undone. Widowmaker let out a wanton moan as she recalled the feeling of Tracer’s eager tongue between her folds, dipping into her entrance in one moment and circling the sniper’s clit in the next.

The young pilot had pleasured her as if it was the last thing she was going to do on this earth, and as Widowmaker felt her body desperately hurtling towards that blissful moment of mind numbing release, she realized that her body had already placed a claim over the other woman that her mind simply couldn’t override.

 The sniper didn’t know if the flash of emotion that shot down her spine at this revelation was fear, excitement, or a strangely potent mix of the two, but she did not have long to consider it. With one final pass of her thumb over her clit, Widowmaker felt the tightening band within her snap in two as her inner walls clenched down around her fingers and her hips began to rock wildly against herself.

The assassin stifled a scream by biting down on the still curled index finger of her left hand, the pain only serving to amplify the sensations wracking her body and causing her voice to catch in a desperate sob. As the waves of intense pleasure slowly began to recede and the motions of her hips stilled, Widowmaker shakily exhaled and rested her forehead against the metal door. She gingerly removed her fingers from her core, her entire palm slick with the evidence of her own lust.

“Fuck…” she whispered, eyes still closed in the vain hope that when she opened them, this would all have just been some kind of strange dream brought on from exhaustion after a particularly long mission. Widowmaker slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurring for a moment as her eyes readjusted to the lights, and looked down at her right hand.

Her fingers were still glistening with wetness, shattering her illusion in an instant. Widowmaker knew that she should feel nothing but disgrace for her actions, submit herself immediately to Talon’s scientists for reconditioning and make sure that they burned every last inch of Tracer from her memories. But she couldn’t seem to will her body to move. It was like trying to hold water in her cupped hands, no matter how hard she tried to retain control and prevent the inevitable, the conclusion remained unchanged.

The assassin sighed and zipped up her suit, stepping back from the door and walking over towards the sink in her quarters’ bathroom to wash her hands. As the cool water cascaded over her skin, Widowmaker tried to collect her thoughts and determine exactly where she stood with regards to her “enemy”

“Non…she **is** my enemy, she is Talon’s enemy. This changes nothing” she snarled angrily as she vigorously began to scrub at her skin. She wasn’t so foolish as to actually believe that Tracer affected her in anything more than a physical sense, it was merely the pilot’s fingers and tongue that her body craved.

Yet even as she finished her thought, with a decisive jerk of the metal faucet to cut off the stream of water, Widowmaker could hear the girl’s voice ringing in her ear just as clearly as she had heard it that night on the rooftop.

_“Easy luv…I’m not gonna hurt you…and I think we both know you’re not gonna hurt me either…I just…need you to trust me Amelie, please…”_

Now, as then, she felt a warming in the pit of her stomach…a quiet clarity taking over and wrapping her thoughts in a sense of belonging that the assassin would not have believed possible.  It settled over Widowmaker like a warm blanket, and she found with some shock that she hadn’t even flinched upon hearing the _other_ woman’s name…or was it… _her_ name?

What was truly disquieting for the sniper however, was that this feeling felt…familiar somehow. It was like a phantom to her mind, translucent in form and utterly nameless, yet its presence was undeniable to her.

Widowmaker closed her eyes and pictured Tracer’s sleeping form as she had carefully laid the girl on her own bed not even 24 hours prior. The sniper had lingered momentarily, staring around at the Brit’s apartment, the eclectic decorations and clutter matching her vibrant personality.

She had been jolted from her observations by a muffled groaning as the prone figure on the bed rolled over in her sleep. Tracer reached out unconsciously for one of the fluffy pillows lining the headboard of the bed and clutched it to her body, her form curling against it in a manner that was reminiscent of the way in which one person would hold another.

Widowmaker had barely even noticed that the corners of her mouth had pulled into a small smile as she watched the other woman’s breathing regulate, indicating that she had returned to a deeper level of slumber as before.

She recalled how, without thinking, she had reached down and pulled the comforter up and over the younger woman, draping it over her shoulders to ward against the chill of the early London morning. Her gloved fingers had barely left the thick fabric when Widowmaker had recoiled her arm in shock, and staggered back away from the bed. Her mind reeling at the implications of her actions, she had refused to believe that she _actually_ felt any level of caring towards Tracer.

Widowmaker had never willingly provided comfort to _anyone_ , let alone to a known enemy of Talon, and as she made her way across the rooftops of London towards the extraction point, the assassin had planned to head directly to the medical wing upon her return to Talon’s base at Cardiff.

The sniper opened her eyes then with a shaky breath to look at her own reflection in the pristine glass surface of the bathroom mirror.

“But…I didn’t…did I?” she whispered to the woman staring back at her from the depths of the reflective pane. Her gaze appeared uncertain…small…and the longer she held it the more frustrated Widowmaker became, until finally, with a snarl, she slammed her fist down onto the metallic surface of the counter and stormed from the bathroom in a cloud of anger and confusion.

Next time…next time she would not hesitate. She would aim the barrel of her rifle directly at that pulsing blue target presented so boldly on the younger woman’s chest and pull the trigger the second that she had a clear shot. Her loyalty to Talon demanded it, her instinct as a cold blooded killer demanded it…it would be just like any other mission.

The sound of her heels clicked across the room as Widowmaker approached her cot, hoping that a few hours of rest would be sufficient to clear her head. She discarded her boots, gauntlets, helmet and stripped out of her catsuit, pulling back the sheets from the cot and laying down on the firm mattress.

 

As she felt the haze of sleep creeping over her consciousness, Widowmaker could still hear the ghost of playful laughter echoing in the back of her mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm looking forward to writing more with these two in the near future. I'm planning on writing a third story to be taking place after this one, so if you liked the journey so far then stay tuned for more soon!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated, and feel free to drop me a line at my blog at vlka-fenryka.tumblr.com, where I'll probably be posting OW and other gaming related fuckery.


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